Alive
by Mel966
Summary: I hated myself for what I was doing, but even that loathing couldn't stop me from doing it. AU, DracoxHermione


_Yeah… I haven't been on in over a year. I don't really know why I stopped writing, so I won't be answering that question. Stories that I begun writing before my hiatus I most likely will not be finishing, but that could theoretically change (don't get your hopes up). Anyways, I'm back, and with a completely different idea on what I like writing. :) So this is very different than my earlier work… but here goes. (My first Draco and Hermione fic… what a milestone. Yay non canon couples!)_

_Note: Obviously, I don't own any characters._

_Also, alternate universe. I wasn't too heavy on the details. And lemon warning._

The cool stone walls of the common room pressed hard into my back, but it wouldn't be until later than I felt the bruises. The freezing night air whistled in the open window and through my hair, but it wouldn't be until later that I realized how very cold it was. We were both so foolish, risking what we had, but I had never felt so alive.

I hated myself for what I was doing, but even that loathing couldn't stop me from doing it.

His lips were on mine, smooth and firm, moving heatedly against my mouth. Our tongues slid across each other, soft and wet. His hand was fisted in the back of my shirt, lifting it from the waistband of my skirt. His other hand was resting firmly on my bottom, holding me flush and secure against him.

He moved his mouth to the juncture between my neck and shoulder, and I let out a sigh of air. "Draco," I whispered, the sound harsh in the night. "We shouldn't…" My voice trailed off, a jagged moan escaping my mouth, embarrassing me, as he nipped at a pulse point on my neck.

He ignored my weak protest, as I knew he would. We both knew that if I hadn't accepted the situation, then I wouldn't be there with him, feeling more alive than I ever had since Harry's death in the fall.

His hands moved to fumble at the hemline of my shirt, and he yanked it over my head, too impatient to deal with buttons. The combination of the sudden cold and the light touches of his finger tips made me recoil into a shiver, but then his arms were around me and his mouth on mine again and I was warm, delightfully warm and alive. Gradually, I could feel the tension of need pooling in my stomach, begging for friction and eventual release. I shifted my hips further into his and felt the resounding groan in his throat as his arousal pressed against me.

His hands slipped between us to touch my breasts through my bra, savoring the ordinary cotton like it was the world's finest silk. I shifted closer, kissing him harder, and then my bra was unclasped and he moved away to slide the straps from my shoulder. My nipples were hard, from both my arousal and the breeze. His eyes were dark as he appraised them, and darker still as he cupped my breasts in his hands, rubbing slowly across my nipples as I felt the heat of a flush fill my face and my pulse thud in my chest. I reached for him, struggling to undo the buttons of his shirt while he gently fondled my breasts and kissed and laved his way down my neck.

"Off," I managed to gasp, tugging at his half-unbuttoned shirt just before he closed his mouth on the tip of my aching breast. My eyes closed, and I could feel wetness between my legs. I rubbed my legs together, desperate for any friction, and then his fingers were there, pressing against me through my underwear, sliding up and down and providing that which I so craved.

I needed him so badly.

I wanted him throbbing between my legs, I wanted to feel his body work to fulfill us both, I wanted the release and the pleasure I knew it would bring.

But mostly I just needed him.

I slipped my hand between us, to forcefully rub his erection, and he stopped in his torture on my body to undo the rest of his shirt buttons and pull it off, baring his pale skin. I undid the button on his pants, and forcefully pulled the zipper down, impatient. He stepped out of his shoes hastily, followed by his pants. I reached out to tug at the waistband of his briefs, inserting my hand inside to grab his erection in my hand, loving the way it pulsated beneath my palm. He groaned harshly, muttering a swearword as he wrenched my hand from him.

Removing his underwear, he shot me a dark look of pure unadulterated lust that made my body sing for him.

I grabbed fistfuls of his hair, yanking his mouth down to mine. Our tongues began a quick, primal dance and I hardly noticed as he took of my skirt and rather wet underwear. He grabbed my hips, lifting me, and I wrapped my legs around him in a tight vise grip. The engorged head of his erection brushed once against my core before he thrusted roughly inside me with a groan. He paused, adjusting his angle, and then pulled out of me only to slam back inside of me, stretching me.

Our bodies rubbed and rocked against each other quickly, seeking a fast release. I whimpered against his mouth, once, and he slammed into me harder than before, grunting with effort. I was close. So, so close. And so was he. I squeezed my walls tight around him, eliciting another deep, growling groan, and I could feel him pulsate powerfully inside of me seconds before releasing his seed within me. His hand slipped between us, pressed roughly against my clitoris, and then I was shuddering and coming as the remnants of his orgasm died.

My body sang. My heart beat in my chest. Sweat gleamed across my body. We both trembled as his legs felt the strain of maintaining our position. My eyes met his, and we both panted.

I wanted to cry. I was alive, I was living.

I was a traitor.

I dropped his gaze, unwrapping my legs from around him. He understood the message, and stepped away from me, letting the cold air slam me back to reality, freezing my damp skin. As he gathered his clothes, tears filled my eyes and slid down my face, falling to the carpet beneath my unsteady legs. He pulled on his pants wordlessly, not giving me another look. I could only stare at his back as he walked away from me, leaving me behind like my entire future had.

"Stay," I begged suddenly.

He froze; that had been entirely unexpected.

"Please," I added brokenly, in nothing more than a whisper, as I wiped the tears from my cheek. He still hadn't moved, or looked back. I sank down the wall, into a fetal position on the floor. Finally, I confessed, "I need you." I need to feel alive.

Without a word, he crossed the room back over to me, and knelt to lift me from the floor. Somewhat awkwardly, he half-carried, half-pulled me across the common room and up the stairs leading to my solitary dorm. Once inside, he set me down on the bed, and stood looking at me, not touching me. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were in the darkness of my room.

"Draco." I reached for him, felt his calloused hand grab mine. He let me pull him down on the bed, let me curl up into his side. His hand found some of my hair, and began to smooth it away from my face.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

"Granger," he finally said with a hoarse voice. "I'm sorry."

I shifted against him, trying to hide my face. I knew what he was sorry for, even though we had never discussed it, and I didn't want to face the truth, didn't want to face the fact that he had been the one to hand Harry Potter to Voldemort, leading to his death at the hands of vengeful Death Eaters just hours after he had defeated the Dark Lord.

"I was scared, Granger. I hoped he would defeat the Dark Lord and free me. I swear I didn't know that they wouldn't give up after the Dark Lord was killed; I didn't know they would kill Potter." He took a deep breath. "I didn't know that Potter would need his friends there to survive."

I was crying again.

"Shit, Granger, stop crying. Hermione, don't cry."

He cupped my face in his hands, kissing my cheeks where the tears were rolling.

What Draco had done was not so different that what we all had been doing to Harry: putting our faith in him and risking his life to save ours. That is what I told myself every time I saw Draco's face. But five months hadn't been enough to erase the blame that lingered from when I had realized that Draco's decision had cost my best friend his life. Five months hadn't been enough to erase the feeling of being disloyal to Harry, by sleeping with the cause of his death.

"I don't know…" I sniffled. "I don't know if I can forgive you," I said honestly, brutally, wretchedly.

He sucked in a sharp breath and turned his face away from mine.

Yet I still needed him. I had fallen into his mercy during the final battle, and had come to rely on him after Harry's funeral. Somewhere along the line, I had even developed some _feelings_ for him, but how could I do such a thing to Harry? How could I do such a thing to myself?

Was feeling alive enough?

"Draco?"

He didn't turn to face me again. I leaned over him, finding his mouth with mine. He halfheartedly kissed me back, so I bit and then sucked on his lower lip. Against his wishes, a moan escaped from his throat.

And then, selfishly, I needed him more than I ever had.

I kissed him with wild abandon, and felt him respond like he always did. The barrier of his pants was suddenly too much, and I don't know who slipped them off first. His hands stroked my stomach, my hips, reverent. His eyes met mine as I straddled him, teasing him by rolling my hips across his, too far away to allow his newly-hard member into me.

His hands gripped my hips, forcing me to slide down upon his erection. I took him in slowly, moaning quietly. My eyes closed instinctively as I felt him fill me completely.

"Open your eyes," he commanded in a whisper.

My heavy eyelids fluttered open to meet his, and he rocked his hips slowly, encouraging me to ride him. I slowly rose up, tightening myself around him, before allowing myself to slide back down, throwing us both into passion. We kept the pace slow, torturously so. Even when my body ached and I wanted release, I maintained the slow, leisurely pace.

When we came, it was together, and just as unhurried as our movements had been.

The whole time, our eyes never left the others.

"I love you," he murmured to me, pressing a gently kiss to the hollow of my throat.

My breath caught in my throat; I couldn't breathe. This wasn't right, this wasn't right, what was I doing? What kind of person did this make me? What would Harry say? What would Ron, poor grieving Ron, say if he knew where I was? How could I do this? I was a traitor, nothing more than scum like Pettigrew, traitor…

"I'm not asking you to love me," he told me sharply, probably noting my panic. The unspoken 'yet' hung in the air. "And I don't expect you too. But I do love you, and I want you to know that." And, not expecting a reply, he tucked me into his arms, kissing my hair, and closed his eyes, prepared to sleep.

I wondered how long he had loved me. I wondered if he had saved my life in the final battle out of hidden love. I wondered if he had known what surrendering Harry would do to the girl he loved.

I wondered if it was possible for me to forgive him for what he did, and even forgive myself for not being there for Harry in his hour of need.

But mostly I wondered if I could ever love him back.

_And done. Boom. Nope, at this time, this is only planned to be a oneshot. I think it's best if I let the reader decide if Hermione is ever capable of mending herself enough to love him back. _

_So. Let me know what you think, yeah? It'd be so awesome if you could leave a review to tell me what you honestly thought about practically every aspect of the story (It was my first lemon, my first DracoxHermione, and my first fic in like two years.)_

_Review! _

_Thank you! Have a great day!_

_Mel._


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